The pigs galloped on. Then, ‘No, it ain’t.’
I’M SORRY?
‘The night isn’t any older than the day, master. It stands to reason. There must have been a day before anyone knew what the night was.’
YES, BUT IT’S MORE DRAMATIC.
‘Oh. Right, then.’
Susan stood by the fireplace.
It wasn’t as though she
Even so …
The idea of the Grim Reaper filling the Hogswatch stockings of the world didn’t fit well in her head, no matter which way she twisted it. It was like trying to imagine Old Man Trouble as the Tooth Fairy. Oh, yes. Old Man Trouble … now
But
Well, the Hogfather, of course, but …
There was a little tinkling sound from somewhere near the base of the Hogswatch tree.
The raven backed away from the shards of one of the glittering balls.
‘Sorry,’ it mumbled. ‘Bit of a species reaction there. You know … round, glittering … sometimes you just gotta peck—’
‘That chocolate money belongs to the children!’
SQUEAK? said the Death of Rats, backing away from the shiny coins.
‘Why’s he doing this?’
SQUEAK.
‘You don’t know either?’
SQUEAK.
‘Is there some kind of trouble? Did he
SQUEAK.
‘Why won’t he tell me?’
SQUEAK.
‘Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.’
Something ripped, behind her. She turned and saw the raven carefully removing a strip of red wrapping paper from a package.
‘Stop that this minute!’
It looked up guiltily.
‘It’s only a little bit,’ it said. ‘No one’s going to miss it.’
‘What do you want it for, anyway?’
‘We’re attracted to bright colours, right? Automatic reaction.’
‘That’s jackdaws!’
‘Damn. Is it?’
The Death of Rats nodded. SQUEAK.
‘Oh, so suddenly you’re Mr Ornithologist, are you?’ snapped the raven.
Susan sat down and held out her hand.
The Death of Rats leapt onto it. She could feel its claws, like tiny pins.
It was just like those scenes where the sweet and pretty heroine sings a little duet with Mr Bluebird.
Similar, anyway.
In general outline, at least. But with more of a PG rating.{27}
‘
SQUEAK. The rat shrugged.
‘But it could happen, couldn’t it? He’s very old, and I suppose he sees a lot of terrible things.’
SQUEAK.
‘All the trouble in the world,’ the raven translated.
‘I understood,’ said Susan. That was a talent, too. She didn’t understand what the rat said. She just understood what it meant.
‘There’s something wrong and he won’t tell me?’ said Susan.
That made her even more angry.
‘But Albert is in on it too,’ she added.
She thought: thousands,
Someone had to do something. It was like that time when Twyla’s grandmother had started telling everyone that she was the Empress of Krull and had stopped wearing clothes.
And Susan was bright enough to know that the phrase ‘Someone ought to do something’ was not, by itself, a helpful one. People who used it
Twyla’s grandmother had ended up in a nursing home overlooking the sea at Quirm. That sort of option probably didn’t apply here. Besides, he’d be unpopular with the other residents.
She concentrated.
When they were halfway down she heard the clock stop ticking. The last tick was long-drawn-out, like a death rattle.
Time stopped.
But
She’d always wondered, when she was small, why visits to her grandfather could go on for days and yet, when they got back, the calendar was still plodding along as if they’d never been away.
Now she knew the why, although probably no human being would ever really understand the how. Sometimes, somewhere, somehow, the numbers on the clock did not count.
Between every rational moment were a billion irrational ones.{28} Somewhere behind the hours there was a place where the Hogfather rode, the tooth fairies climbed their ladders, Jack Frost drew his pictures, the Soul Cake Duck laid her chocolate eggs. In the endless spaces between the clumsy seconds Death moved like a witch dancing through raindrops, never getting wet.
Humans could liv— No, humans couldn’t
Humans could